


Answers

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Persona 3
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Springkink prompt - Persona 3: Minato/Akinari, romance, "forever is out of reach so let's take this moment".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answers

I don't know why you chose me.

Our first meeting was abrupt at best and I've told you before not to waste your time on me. You know I'm dying, that I can't help being morbid and would not want to if I could. I'm not an easy person to talk to, I have no patience for pity or stupidity.

Still, you chose me. Week after week until I stopped coming to the shrine for myself and started coming for you. I actually felt excited to show you how my story had progressed and soon realised that showing you the story was only half the reason I had that excitement.

I could never be a knight in shining armour, but you were, even if I am equally no damsel in distress. Still, you saved me.

I thought about giving up before. Everyone looked at me with pity - or nerves, disgust, as if I had something they could catch. And then I - you proved I didn't need them to be happy. I just needed myself. Your friendship meant a lot to me, Minato-san, and I could have left it as friendship alone and been satisfied.

I would not have thought about dating if you had not mentioned it first, talking to me while I waited out another coughing fit. I blanked out so much of what you said at first, afraid I might laugh and start coughing more while you told me about the disastrous dates with girls in your life. Then you less than casually mentioned the possibility of dating a man; nothing coy with you, your eye contact steady. I can't remember if you finished asking or if I said "yes" first. I suppose I already know then what I do now - that even if we could not spend as much time together as I would like, I could have loved you. Not a star-crossed, swooning, die for each other love - what would be the point in that anyway? - but love nonetheless. If we had the time, I could have loved you.

.

The beach was cold and wet, the sky grey with rain, but we were both wrapped up warm and we never walked too far from civilisation. I wouldn't have had the energy to do that anyway, even if breathing the salt of sea air was easier than breathing in the spores and pollen of a meadow. Setting up a tent and a disposable barbeque under the shelter of your umbrella was insane but inspired, and though the sleeping bags were thin they kept us warm enough. Allowing myself out in weather like that was foolish but you made it so I didn't care, and for that I'm glad - so very glad, because worrying about pneumonia was pointless and as long as my chest stayed dry and I took my time eating my food the breathlessness was not unbearable. Besides, it was a date - I could allow myself to be silly like that and spoil myself on overcooked food full of additives.

It was fun, and the second date went much the same way, albeit with better weather. You gave me my first real kiss - I'd kissed before, but never _meant_ it as I did with you. And it wasn't clumsy - there were no sparks or fireworks from its perfection, the world did not stop for it, but we did not clash teeth or bump noses. It was comfortable and easy and tasted of nothing more than saliva, wet and warm and normal. You brought normality into my world; we were friends already, now we were friends who kissed.

.

The third date would have been a disaster if not for your patience. Trying to go a step further without thinking through what we were doing was a mistake, and it couldn't have been attractive when I pulled away from you and coughed until I was nearly sick. You had been surprised by my stomach muscles but they're only what my doctor cheerfully called "smoker's abs"; cough hard enough for long enough and the muscles used to do it develop naturally.

That I could not rush anything with you because of my illness was an annoyance but, true to form, you waited for my breath to come back and propped yourself up so I didn't have to bear your weight. I still don't know how you stayed hard - there couldn't have been anything glamorous in my condition - but you were calm and your hands were steady, slower with me this time than you had been before, always listening for my breath and it was torture to have to settle for this speed. Slow and steady, your lips against my neck whenever I gasped as if you could kiss away any coughing fit, and even though there had been fewer worries about coughing when I last did this for myself the experience of having someone do this for me was better beyond comparison. I didn't resent the coughing fit when I came any more than I resented the fact my skin would get sticky because this time I was prepared and, more importantly, your needs had to be attended to. I could have been lazy, watching you help yourself out, but I could be greedy too when I wanted and I _did_ want to help, to hold you in my hands, to know you were gasping because of me and watch the intelligence in your eyes turn to desperation.

Perhaps I overindulge with you around but I feel I've earned the right. You've made sure I never feel ashamed. You've helped me find a place in a world that I thought hated me.

.

I knew I would have your support when I gave up the medicine, even if I don't think you fully understood why I had to do it. I needed to finish my story, to know how it ends, and I don't want to half-remember your face through a haze of painkillers. I can't take you with me and do not want to but I want to keep my memories of you. When the pain becomes unbearable I want to remember your strength and your face, understanding without pity. I want to remember your smell and your quiet laugh and our wonderful if slightly insane dates on the beach.

Without the medicine I'll be able to see and feel everything clearer, including the pain. I won't have much longer to spend with you. I think you know that.

You've been so careful in trying to look casual - your shirt untucked but so obviously ironed and washed, your trousers pressed and worn with black sneakers to match. You've washed your hair too, no tell-tale dent from headphones. You don't have music playing at all, actually, and I wonder if that's making you uncomfortable.

I had thought you good looking when taking my medicine. Without my medicine I don't think I could sum you up in words.

.

I guess this will have to be our last date - I probably won't have the energy for much more than writing and reading after this, if that. We talk and talk, pause to eat, and then I let you carry on while I listen when the breathlessness returns. You're so quiet normally and I can't help feeling quite selfishly happy that I've only ever seen you talk this much with me.

It's strange, but I can feel the weight lift from your shoulders when we're back in your dormitory even as you sneak me into your room - you mention briefly that your dorm buddies would never tell on you, but you don't want them to get in trouble for refusing to if we get caught. I choose against commenting on your kindness this time because I've noticed how mentioning it seems, strangely, to embarrass you.

Your room is tidy, as I had expected, but I have barely the energy to make it to your chair, let alone the bed. Not for the first time I curse the weakness of my legs, the way the muscles seem scarcely enough to support what little weight I have, but you're more forward this time and when your hands make way for your mouth as you kneel in front of the chair any subtlety on my part goes out of the window. I can't think about your dorm buddies or your neighbours or _anything_ save how hot your mouth is, how clever your hands, how embarrassing it is to have my legs spread when I know your door isn't yet locked and how, how beautiful you look with your eyes closed as you concentrate on what's between your lips.

I'm not sure if you're mine or I'm yours in that moment. Maybe both. But I'm making nonsense sounds and coughing and it hurts, it hurts so much I feel sick but it stops as I come and I can't even say your name or swear because I can't _think_, I can only watch and feel, and I should be ashamed of the mess I'm in but I can't even pretend I am. I can't pretend because you're so gentle with me, soothing and perfect and still not pitying as you help me out of the rest of my clothes and into an oversized t-shirt of yours. It's near impossible to help myself climb into your bed but the effort is worthwhile because I can relax against the sheets while watching you take care of your own erection, hand moving quickly in familiar gestures as you lock the door and gather my clothes into a pile on the chair, strangely efficient without being cold because I know I'm not being ignored and I know I'm the reason for that erection, for the ache your face expresses so eloquently, and if only I had the energy to do _anything_ I would want to return the favour you gave me.

You come swiftly enough, getting similarly undressed before pulling on a t-shirt and I almost want you to stop just so I can look at you because I'll never know you well enough. When you slide in beside me on the bed and put an arm around my waist, all I can think is how warm you are, how perfect and everything I wish was normal.

.

You won't say "don't go" in the morning, I know that. You'll make breakfast and we'll talk some more, and you'll do everything you can to keep me here without forcing me to, but you won't say "don't go". You respect my decisions, Minato-san. You respect me - that's what has made you mean so much to me over these past weeks. You've given me the strength to do what I believe in and you've let me know happiness when I'd started to think I wasn't meant to. You give me hope, make me think that my death won't be meaningless. That somehow, perhaps, the world could continue on and become a better place and I could be a tiny part of that.

Settled in your arms and breathing steadily for once, your head a comforting weight against my shoulder, I find myself reaching under your bed with one hand to find my mobile so I can text myself a quick message for later.

I've thought of an ending for my book.

Your ending.


End file.
